Jack Love

A name as ubiquitous as Jack and a feeling as euphoric as Love: you will feel Jack Love everywhere, but seeing is a different story. If there is an edge of darkness, you will find him there. A place where shadow and glints of light meet, and then obscure. Most people walk by without notice. If you are among those who forget to mind the details of the night or can’t hear the depth of his sound, then you have already missed Jack Love. He is already in the thick of his set before you’ve earned admittance from the bouncer, and off to another scene before the bartender has poured you a drink. There is no limelight more exciting than what Jack Love finds in the dark corners of a packed club. Bass vibrating through heavy walls, his warm hands find themselves around the small waist of a red-lipped woman and a rocks glass of golden scotch on ice. He is hedonism in a black jacket with a mess of long inky curls framing his haunting face. Jack Love moves in time unlit and he goes untouched by the hype his music has gained. There are no photo shoots; he has no website. Jack Love may not even be his real name. He’s not about Tweeting and you won’t find a Facebook page for you to “like.” He doesn’t care if you like him, only that you come for his music and leave wanting more.